Have yourself a farty little Buttmas

In honor of TwoBert's first Christmas, Robert almost exclusively addresses him as "Farty." This is in keeping with the New Scatology that has hijacked Robert's vocabulary; every third word out of his mouth is fart or butt. He's also learned a number of Christmas songs at school and ingeniously bent the lyrics to serve his fun little scheme. Who can forget such timeless holiday classics as:

Jingle Farts

Little Farter Boy

Farty the Butt Man

It's the Most Wonderful Fart in my Butt ... and many more!

Off the record, this is comedy gold. Officially, however, we disapprove. On our way to a Christmas party on Sunday, we told Robert to tone down the flatugluteal discourse for all the fabulous and/or childless folks who might not understand. To his credit, he was great about it throughout the afternoon, and he waited until we left the building before he wondered out loud where the farty bus was.

Today, lots of frozen New Yorkers are wondering exactly the same thing, because the MTA's transit workers have called for a general strike. We almost made it out of town before the shit hit the fan, but now we have to navigate the mayhem and somehow make our way to the airport this afternoon. Our fingers are crossed for a holiday miracle, because if the roads remain as impassable as they are now, this could be the fartiest Buttmas ever.

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Have yourself a farty little Buttmas

In honor of TwoBert's first Christmas, Robert almost exclusively addresses him as "Farty." This is in keeping with the New Scatology that has hijacked Robert's vocabulary; every third word out of his mouth is fart or butt. He's also learned a number of Christmas songs at school and ingeniously bent the lyrics to serve his fun little scheme. Who can forget such timeless holiday classics as:

Jingle Farts

Little Farter Boy

Farty the Butt Man

It's the Most Wonderful Fart in my Butt ... and many more!

Off the record, this is comedy gold. Officially, however, we disapprove. On our way to a Christmas party on Sunday, we told Robert to tone down the flatugluteal discourse for all the fabulous and/or childless folks who might not understand. To his credit, he was great about it throughout the afternoon, and he waited until we left the building before he wondered out loud where the farty bus was.

Today, lots of frozen New Yorkers are wondering exactly the same thing, because the MTA's transit workers have called for a general strike. We almost made it out of town before the shit hit the fan, but now we have to navigate the mayhem and somehow make our way to the airport this afternoon. Our fingers are crossed for a holiday miracle, because if the roads remain as impassable as they are now, this could be the fartiest Buttmas ever.